


Xavier's Adventures in Belgium

by vtn



Category: Electronic Dance Music RPF, Justice (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-08
Updated: 2008-01-08
Packaged: 2017-11-18 09:00:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/559199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vtn/pseuds/vtn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Xavier goes to Belgium for Soulwaxmas, where he drinks a lot of coffee, judges a kissing contest, eats chocolate with Erol Alkan, tries on a pair of very large sunglasses, and as usual can't keep everyone else's hands off him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Xavier's Adventures in Belgium

**Author's Note:**

> FYI Erol/Xavier is the main pairing, other pairings are background.

Jet lag finally kicks in at about 30° N, 40° W and seven or eight hours of flying, when Xavier has finished with his litany of 'paper crafts I learned to do on WikiHow' and the stewardesses all know Gaspard personally (he's substituting caffeinated drinks for his usual vice of cigarettes).  Xavier feels about twenty years younger than he was thirty minutes ago, and kind of wants his mother (who was, it should be mentioned, with him in Australia but flew home a week ago).  He leans back his seat and attempts to doze off.

Apparently he's successful, because the next thing he hears is " _Welcome to Belgium_.  _Bienvenue à Belgique_." and various other translations of the same.  He opens his eyes to find out they've actually stopped and he's been drooling a bit on Gaspard's shoulder.  

"I think I soiled your shirt," he mumbles sheepishly, but Gaspard just shrugs and ruffles his hair.  Maybe he actually has de-aged due to some sort of voodoo magic.  They have voodoo in Australia, don't they?  Wait, that's Jamaica.  Well, maybe there are Jamaicans on the plane.  (Jamaicans on a Plane: Samuel L. Jackson sequel?)  Not that Jamaicans all practice voodoo.  Just, maybe someone has put a spell on him and made him a child again. 

Or maybe not, because he's getting up from his seat and remains taller than the average five-year-old.  He says a yawning "Good morning" to Gaspard, So_Me, and Busy P, who are beginning to pull luggage from the compartments.  After pulling his own bag down, he finds a hairbrush and one-handedly brushes his staticky hair while sweeping paper boxes into his carry-on with the other hand.

"Do you realize we don't need travel dictionaries anymore?" says Gaspard excitedly, tugging at Xavier's arm.  "I'm almost afraid now they'll think we have Australian accents here."

"Move," says Xavier, with a shove to the seat of Gaspard's pants.  He grins at the dirty look he gets in return.  "I could have done worse.  Anyhow, you're right, but I'm going to miss having conversations no one else can understand."

"True."  Gaspard is a bit more subdued on the rest of their trip out of the plane, except for complaining to Busy at one point that "He groped me, you know," to which Busy responds "Okay, grope him back, don't make such a big deal out of it."  Thank God for Busy P, the best mediator in the world.  Xavier looks forward to Gaspard's eventual revenge.

\---

If meeting the Aussie DJs is like visiting their impossibly cool second cousins for the first time, checking into the Belgian hotel is like a normal family reunion at Christmas, where everyone is touching your face and commenting on how much you've grown.  "You have suntans, we're so jealous!" seems to be the word of the moment.  Yes, well, pretty soon no one is going to be looking at said suntans because the European winter is a rude awakening from days when Xavier didn't even bother putting a shirt on until half an hour before soundcheck and sometimes not even then.

Gaspard sneaks off to the hotel room because he's heard there is Super Nintendo, and Xavier is left to get up to all kinds of mischief.  He has a camera and amuses himself by taking pictures of people's asses until he gets bored of this and ends up following someone into Goose's hotel room where there is supposed to be a party going on.

\---

Xavier is fairly sure he is the unofficial slut of Ed Banger Records.  What has confirmed this for him is that Michael from Goose has just asked him to settle an argument (there may or may not be money involved) by making out with both halves of 2manyDJs to determine who is better at it.

He has, of course, agreed, and now Stef Dewaele's tongue is down his throat.  Stef pulls away, shaking Xavier's hand, and lets Dave have a turn.  Xavier swallows and takes a deep breath before he presses his lips to Dave's—immediately Dave is all over him, hands roaming and hips pressing into Xavier's hips.  

"You didn't have to be that enthusiastic," Xavier says, laughing uncomfortably, when Dave draws back to take a breath.

"I've been wanting to do that for a long time," Dave says, breathing heavily, and goes back to kissing Xavier.  Weird.  Very weird.  Xavier throws a worried look over his shoulder; Michael shrugs so he decides to enjoy the moment for what it's worth and let Dave keep kissing him.  And kissing him.

"Your time is up now," says Michael, who is blushing from head to toe.  "Um."

"He wins," says Xavier, pointing to Dave.  "He had been wanting to do that for a long time, you know."  He winks at Dave and then darts away to try and hide somewhere.

\---

"Belgium is crazy," Xavier says at no one in particular.  He has wandered downstairs to the hotel lobby where he is watching Busy P and Erol Alkan play billiards.  It is becoming increasingly obvious to him that, if the hotel is not mostly booked to Soulwax's invitees in the first place, they have chased all the other guests away.

"Belgium _is_ crazy," Busy agrees, frowning.  "Or else," he switches to English,  "I would have kicked his ass already.  But I have been walking upside down the last two months."

"Whine, whine, whine."  Erol knocks the six beautifully into a pocket, but the cue ball follows it.  "Oh, bollocks."

"Stop speaking English," says Xavier, feeling oddly irritable, clamping his hands over his ears and ignoring the rest of their conversation.  It's weird that the English word for 'whine' and the English word for 'wine' are the same word or almost the same word.  Also, wine is delicious.  He misses wine in France.  They don’t drink anything good in Australia.  Well, it's good if you're trying to get drunk, but not if you're trying to be discerning about it.  Belgium has _some_ good stuff; he recalls getting distinctly tipsy on champagne at I Love Techno back in November, but it's just not the same. What Belgium is good for is chocolate, and—

"Are you OK?"  Erol again, patting Xavier's shoulder and speaking English.  Well, Xavier supposes it's not really Erol's fault he's from England.

"I am okay, just, uh, lost in thought."  He opens one eye.  "And I am confused.  With, um, the time.  The time zone."

"Ah, we have a jet-lagged Frenchman.  We had better fix you up."  Erol taps Xavier on the chin.  "Do you want something to drink?"  Drink?  No way.  He has no need to be any more disoriented than he already is.

"No, but I would like some chocolate…"

\---

As it turns out, Erol is fantastic about giving in to this kind of wish.  He has dragged Xavier up to his room (Xavier and Gaspard's own room is now occupied by whoever wants to play ExciteBike or Dr. Mario) and supplied him with bite-sized individually wrapped squares of Belgian chocolates, each with a different pastel color.

"I like the gold ones best," Erol says, dropping a couple more on the bed.  "I'm not sure if they actually taste different.  It's some sort of subconscious association, I think."

"Thank you very much," says Xavier.  He unwraps a pink chocolate and pops it into his mouth.  Perfect.  "You are too kind."

"Anything for my lovely friends," says Erol.  "Besides, the airport was full of these chocolates.  I just stuffed a bag full of them."

"You should have one," Xavier says, flicking one across the bed.  He looks at Erol carefully.  "I wanted to say, I like your remix of the…"  Damn it, what was the song called again?  "Engine, by LA Priest.  How did you do it?"

"Same as always."  Erol laughs.  "You know, you ask me that every time."  Xavier actually has a very good reason for this.  One of the first few times they were DJing at the same venue, he asked Erol to show him how the equipment worked, having been genuinely curious, and Erol grabbed Xavier by the arm and guided him.  The sheer delight he got from that was enough to make him ask as many questions as possible, because that time it ended with one of Erol's arms around his waist and Erol's lips near his cheek, and he likes the way Erol flirts—it's so much more subtle and slow than the frantic and kind of frightening experience with Dave earlier.  Xavier will get over that soon enough, though, especially because Dave's not a bad kisser.  He won't get over Erol, though, at least not if he has his way.

"Why aren't you eating your chocolate?"  Xavier shakes his head and snatches it to unwrap it himself.  "It is delicious."

"You asked me a question and distracted me, so you're to blame."  Erol tries to grab it back, but Xavier moves his hand out of reach.  In response, Erol climbs up onto the bed and reaches across Xavier's arm for it.  "Therefore…"  He manages to pin Xavier's arm down and then tries to bat away Xavier's other hand with his own.  "It's rightfully mine."

"Okay," says Xavier cheerily, and wriggles out of Erol's grasp so he can stuff the chocolate in his mouth personally—only Erol isn't expecting this at all so he just ends up smearing it across his face.  

"Well, that's lovely."  Erol frowns but licks his lips.  "You're right, this is delicious."

"You must believe me when I say these things," Xavier chides.  "Also, you are crushing my arm."

"Oh, sorry about that."  Erol sits down next to Xavier and pulls the opened chocolate off of the comforter.  "My, my, I guess we'll have to clean that up at some point."

"Later!"  Xavier grins.  "Do you know what I did today?"

"What did you do today?"  

"I kissed the 2ManyDJs, and I think that Dave is in love with me."  Erol sighs.

"Isn't everyone in love with you?  I saw about ten girls trying to sneak into the back at I Love Techno."  He punches Xavier in the arm lightly.  "I don't blame them though."

"No?"  Xavier tries to look innocent.  But really, it's not surprising Erol would say something like that, considering Erol usually can't keep his hands off Xavier anyway, which is probably why—hey!  "Erol, you just invited me here because you are also in love with me."  He sticks his tongue out and unwraps another chocolate.

"I think 'in love' is a bit of a strong word, but yes, I'm quite fond of you, Xavier."  Erol eyes Xavier warily as Xavier continues stuffing himself with chocolates.  "You should probably stop eating before you get stomachache, you know."

"But I like it."  He hopes he's pouting convincingly.

"Well, then I'll have to blah, blah, blah." Well, that's not actually what he says, but Xavier has no idea what he actually says.  He's way too tired to be his own interpreter.

"What?  I don't know that."  He leans back on the pillows, wondering if maybe he can just doze off and forget the entire world.

"Don't play dumb," says Erol with a smile, frustrating Xavier because the one time, the one damn time when he's not playing dumb, Erol thinks he's got it all figured out.  Xavier does the only responsible thing: he hits Erol in the face.  "Ouch."  Rubbing his nose, Erol frowns playfully at Xavier.  "You're just asking for it now."

What?  What am I asking for?  Xavier wonders, but he never gets around to asking Erol, who is crawling further up the bed and sliding a hand up Xavier's thigh.  This he could get used to.  Wait, was he asking for this?  Is there some sort of—he can't even think of the word in French now, he must be going insane.

"Protocol!" he says triumphantly to himself, just before Erol distracts him by leaning in to kiss him.  Xavier blinks into Erol's shut eyes with their thick black lashes, and then closes his own eyes as Erol lowers their heads down to the pillows and deepens the kiss.  Xavier lazily slides his hands down Erol's back and under his waistline, which is harder than it ought to be.  "You wear really tight pants," he whispers in Erol's ear, pulling away from the kiss.  He says it in French, of course, on the off chance that Erol has no idea what he's saying and thinks it's something sexy.  "Really…really…tight…pants." 

"Mm," says Erol.  Apparently, he was exactly right.  Time to see what he can get away with.

"Your pants are probably too small for you," he says softly, trying to find the zipper of said pants.  

"Xavier, are you fucking with me?  I heard 'small' in there somewhere.  What are you trying to insinuate?"  He can feel Erol smile against his cheek.  Wow!

"It is a…saying, that they say in France," he offers, trying not to smile.  He unzips Erol's jeans, finally, and yanks them down over his hips.  "Shh."

Erol hushes.  Xavier kisses the side of his neck, and Erol starts in to pulling Xavier's shirt off.  

It is at this time that Erol's cell phone rings.

"Oh, better get that."  What worse torture could there be?  He's now cold and half-shirtless on the bed while Erol fumbles around on the dresser for his phone.  "Hello?  Yeah.  Of course.  Sorry, I was just—right."

"Hang up the phone," Xavier says meaningfully, unzipping his pants.

"Xavier de Rosnay," says Erol to whoever he's talking to.  "Yeah, from Justice.  France.  Paris, France."  Xavier hates trying to figure out the other side of phone conversations.  "Poor kid was exhausted, I'm letting him take a nap in here."  Erol steps out of his pants and pulls off his socks while holding the phone between his cheek and his shoulder.  "Of course."  He laughs.  "All too well.  …How did you know?   …Thanks.  …Of course!  …You too.  Bye-bye!"  

"Who was that?" Xavier asks, kicking one of his own socks off playfully in Erol's direction.  

"My wife," says Erol.  Xavier laughs.

"No, who was that?"

"It really was my wife," says Erol, shrugging.  "Don't think about it too much, all right?"

"I'm thinking about it."  Xavier starts to pull his pants back up.  Maybe he'll leave.  Gaspard will fuck him, right?  Even he can be pulled away from his video games by an enticement like that.  "You're a—"

"It was my wife," says Erol, beginning to laugh, "And she actually asked me if I was going to have my way with you.  I told her yes, of course.  Trust me, not even marriage could stop my wild ways; the lady is very accommodating, we actually met when I was wearing a pink feather boa and kissing a bloke…but that's another story for another time."

"So if I leave then you will have lied to your wife, and this cannot happen," Xavier muses, pulling his shirt all the way over his head.  "I am in a trap."  He flicks a chocolate at Erol's head and misses by a country mile.  Depressing.  All his repeated viewings of the 'Tricks in everyday life' video for naught.

"You bet, you're in a trap," says Erol, climbing back onto the bed and leaning over Xavier, breathing hot into his face.  "I'm not letting you leave here till I'm done with you anyway."  With that he yanks Xavier's pants the rest of the way down—and that's it for the question of leaving, because now Erol's hand is wrapped around his erection and Erol is kissing him again.  

Xavier is not a patient person in general; even less so when he's jet-lagged and incredibly aroused.  "Are you going to fuck me?" he says, turning his eyes up to Erol's.

"All right, already!"  Erol laughs and—woe!—gets up off the bed again to rummage through his bags, which looks really funny when he's wearing nothing but a shirt and a hard-on.  

"Bend over more," Xavier teases.  Erol does.  If only Xavier had his camera now!

"Here we are," he says at last, and hops back onto the bed with condoms and lube, which he deposits in Xavier's lap while he removes his own shirt and flings it off to the netherworld on the other side of the room.  

  
"Don't waste time," says Xavier while Erol is pressing him up against the headboard, making him bend his knees—Erol knows him well, he likes to be a little bit uncomfortable.  "I am restless."

"Restless, are we?"  Xavier can hear the smile in Erol's voice.  He nods emphatically, and the next thing he knows, Erol is pushing into him and he's moving against Erol's hips, gritting his teeth every time the side of his face knocks against the headboard.  

Erol fucks him hard, hands gripping Xavier tight enough that it'll smart the next morning, until he finishes, running one hand up Xavier's leg and sighing gently.  With slow motions, he reaches around to take care of Xavier—ever the gentleman, he uses his other hand to keep Xavier's legs from giving out until Xavier comes, at which point they both more or less collapse.

Xavier kisses Erol messily on the lips, which still taste like chocolate, he notes.  Before long, he's dreaming.

\---

As they're working on a loose set list, Gaspard and Xavier share a pack of cigarettes, their first since arriving in Europe.  Despite earlier distractions, Xavier always feels more comfortable when he has something to smoke.  

Of course, now, they're down to the last one and this simply won't do at all.  Xavier rifles about in Gaspard's bag for extras and frowns when he encounters a pair of big-lensed sunglasses.  

"Why didn't you share these with me?" he says, holding them up expectantly.  "I like them.  In fact, I'm going to put them on now."  He does.  "What are you going to do about it?"

"Nothing," says Gaspard.  "Just laugh at you because they make your head look tiny.  You look like a dragonfly."

"A dragonfly?  You could have said worse," he muses.  "I don't mind dragonflies, they're—"

"I'm going to stop you before you start talking and never finish," interrupts Gaspard.  "I just remembered I have something to give you."

"Really."

"Yes."  Gaspard walks over to Xavier, makes like he's going to reach into the bag and then grabs Xavier's crotch.

"Um."

"Yes, I owed you that," he says, nodding.  "You know that I never forget these things."

"Well, it's true."  Xavier is pleased.  Gaspard seems to have outdone him this time.  He deserves a reward.  "Here."  He reaches into his pocket.  "Have a chocolate.  They're good.  Belgian, you know?"

 


End file.
